


Shiver and Shake

by ProsperDemeter



Series: 20 Days of Holiday Fics [15]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Epilepsy, Established Relationship, M/M, Norman Osborn's A+ parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28092225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProsperDemeter/pseuds/ProsperDemeter
Summary: "His hand wouldn’t stop shaking.That, in itself, wouldn’t necessarily be a problem."Harry hasn't had a seizure since he was twelve... until then.
Relationships: Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Series: 20 Days of Holiday Fics [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035498
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	Shiver and Shake

**Author's Note:**

> 15! 😊😊😊😊
> 
> Warning: I do terribly explaining an epileptic seizure and in no way do I mean to be glorifying the event, the disorder, or the reactions from it. I pulled my research from epilepsy.com.

His hand wouldn’t stop shaking. 

That, in itself, wouldn’t necessarily be a problem - Harry’s hands didn’t usually shake but he  _ had _ consumed a great deal of caffeine in preparation for midterms. His lack of sleep and over reliance on coffee was a dangerous combination for a lot of things, for one he was more likely to snap at ineptitude. For another it proved much harder to concentrate on even the smallest tasks - and, really, how did Peter  _ do _ it? He was lucky if he got an hours sleep every weeknight but managed straight A’s and extra curriculars. The problem was his right hand wouldn’t stop shaking  _ and _ his left toes kept clenching and unclenching reflexively and he could feel the pull of his mind to just… stop, drop and roll. 

Or well, not roll but Harry didn’t actually have any memory of what happened when it  _ happened _ . 

The thing about epilepsy was that it didn’t have a schedule for  _ when  _ it would occur. He understood it on a very logical and scientific level. He had had his first seizure when he was five years old, apparently he had dropped all of his toys at once and grabbed tightly to his father’s pant leg and then… fell. His were enhanced by any number of things - stress, lack of sleep, head injuries. But, most importantly, they centered around one common cause - genetics. As with most things that cursed Harry throughout his life, he had inherited the disorder from his father’s side of the family. 

The biggest problem, the biggest,  _ biggest _ problem about the entire situation, was that Harry hadn’t had an episode since he was twelve. He was good about taking his medication on time, he carried a rescue in his bag, and he  _ typically _ knew the signs well enough to get to it in time. But, well, he shouldn’t have gone to school that day. And he  _ definitely _ shouldn’t have stayed past his tests. But he would be fine. It would be fine. Everything would be…  _ fine _ . 

“Hey,” Betty nudged his arm and Harry blinked back into focus. She nodded, wide eyed, to the front of the room where it was eerily quiet and Mrs. Santiago was staring him down like he held a valuable answer to whatever life problems were plaguing her  _ now _ . He swallowed past the dry lump in his throat. 

His right hand clenched into a fist in his lap. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” He only had a few hours left to go and then he could, well, certainly not  _ drive _ home. Oh god, if it happened here, at school, they would call an ambulance, alert his father, and the doctors would take his license until he was  _ one year  _ seizure free. There would go  _ that _ hard fought freedom. 

Mrs. Santiago, thankfully, didn’t look too annoyed - the teachers were well aware of the midterms their students had just had to sit through (three hours of  _ gruelling _ tests) and most of them were kind enough to not expect too much as close to winter break as they were. She asked again, Harry answered only after a moment of processing and things went back to normal. 

Except his hand was still shaking. 

And it had taken a bit too long to answer the question than it normally would have. 

Peter nudged his chair from where he sat behind him with Ned, looked at him with obvious concern and didn’t take Harry’s short, crisp, head shake as confirmation of  _ anything  _ except that something was actually wrong. Which, Harry supposed, was fair of him. He had the perfect vantage point, after all, to see the way Harry’s hand was shaking like it was working its way through an earthquake. Time, as it usually did when things were bothersome, started to move at a sluggish pace. Peter waited until Mrs. Santiago had sat back at her desk, leaving the class to do an assignment with their table mates, before leaning over so that he was in the space by Harry’s ear and hissing out a question Harry wasn’t prepared to answer. “What do you need?” Betty shot the two of them a curious look. 

It wasn’t a secret what the nature of Peter and Harry’s relationship was. It wasn’t even like it was a  _ new thing _ . They had been going at it since Homecoming Freshman year and by December of Senior year most of Midtown knew that they were a  _ they _ . On top of that fact, the two of them had been friends for longer than most people knew anyone outside of family. But Harry had worked hard to be known as  _ Harry _ and not Peter’s boyfriend, and Peter had worked even harder to be  _ Peter _ and not Harry Osborn’s second half. They tended not to shove it in the school’s face by being overly affectionate. Sure, they sat together at lunch and sometimes Peter surprised Harry with coffee in the morning and, sure, sometimes Harry brought him in little trinkets that he had seen that reminded him of Peter but… they weren’t…  _ too _ … obvious. 

But that meant that, out of everyone in the entire school, Peter was probably the person that knew Harry best. And Harry  _ knew _ that even though Peter had never seen one of his episodes in person he had done  _ extensive  _ research  _ just in case _ . He was cataloging everything ten times faster than Harry could even register it was happening. He probably had his phone on a timer since he had first noticed Harry’s hand start to shake. Peter’s mind had always been a fast moving thing, it was just that, ever since the spider bite, his body moved quick enough to keep up. “Nothing,” Harry said even though it was a bold faced  _ lie _ and Peter knew it. 

Brown eyes, the color of Harry’s coffee in the morning with a splash of milk and a spoonful of brown sugar, narrowed at the useless answer. But he let Harry go back to his work with Betty, turned back to his own with Ned, and Harry pretended he didn’t know that half of Peter’s attention was on him the entire time. 

It was fine. It  _ would _ be fine. If Harry kept up that mantra then he would be  _ fine _ . 

Only when he looked up at the clock it didn’t look  _ right _ and his hand was still shaking and whatever was clicking  _ needed to stop _ and the lights in the room were really starting to hurt. He shut his eyes tight, rubbed at his forehead, and tried to make sense of the cacophony of sounds in the room. It was like everything was under water - he could hear only his heart beat and the blood rushing through his veins louder than normal and everything else was fading quick. Someone was saying his name, someone else was touching his arm but their hand felt like fire on his skin and, he supposed, it was a bit like getting electrocuted from the inside out. 

It all came back rather suddenly, like his head had just burst through the top of a wave to look out at the horizon. It was Betty’s hand on his arm, gentle and rubbing a soothing circle on top of his arm. Mrs. Santiago was on the classroom phone, meant to communicate from room to room for emergencies or anything else between the teachers and administration. “You back?” Peter, soft, gentle, and patient was knelt beside him, his knees on the cold and dusty floor. Ned, and surprisingly Flash Thompson, was standing like a barricade in front of the desk he sat at. Midtown, for all that it was a school of geniuses, was still a school of teenagers and a video of a classmate (especially  _ Harry Osborn _ ) having something that was construed as a medical emergency would go viral fast. 

“I have to go.” Harry said with finality and Peter pursed his lips before nodding once, jerkily and pulling himself to his full height. He looked more like Spider-Man there than Peter Parker, a change in the way he held himself and the expression on his face and Harry thought, in a moment of clearly delirious thought, that he was actually wearing the suit then. That he was blue and red and black and then he blinked and he was still Peter, still wearing a stupid shirt with a stupid pun and a dark yellow sweatshirt. 

Mrs. Santiago stopped them at the door. “Nurse Devon says to stay put. How long was it?” She seemed worried, young, unused to this sort of thing. Harry would feel bad, later, but for the time being he could barely focus enough to be standing on two feet. 

“A minute, twenty four seconds.” Peter rattled off quickly as his alter ego swung from buildings and moved to hustle Harry out of the door before well… Harry wasn’t entirely sure what happened. 

He had been standing one second, Betty following with his bag and jacket and Peter in front of him and, then, he was blinking up at the pasty white ceiling. Sound wasn’t something he could register at first and it was slow to grow back. He barely even registered a touch on his cheek until he saw the hand move to push at something he couldn’t see. They had blue polka dotted nails and a silver bracelet with an intricate, tight, design across the center. Full, artificially orange lips, curled into a smile and moved to form words he couldn’t place or hear. 

Harry shut his eyes again and turned his face away. He met something that was both soft and hard on the other side but it was  _ warm _ and he was rapidly getting cold. It smelled familiar in a room of things that felt very unfamiliar and he breathed it in - detergent, cinnamon, and cardamom. He buried his nose in it until it stung the skin and with each brush of fingers tangling in his hair softly he picked up another sound. The buzz of voices, the ticking of a clock, the exaggerated inhale and exhale of someone trying to stay calm. “Harry?” Nurse Devon asked in her slow, sweet voice, soft and patient her warm fingers were closed around his wrist and pressed to a pulse point. 

It was terribly embarrassing. 

He licked his lips, breathed in deeply and winced at the way his arm twitched at his side. His eyelashes fluttered and he nodded, nose brushing against denim. He wanted to curl in on himself, wanted to take stalk of any injuries or aches, he wanted to  _ sleep _ and throw up his lunch and he desperately wanted to cry and he wasn’t even sure  _ why _ . “Okay.” She let go of his wrist. “Can you look at me, please? So I can check your head.” 

He both desperately wanted to move and didn’t want to move at all but, if what he knew of doctors visits in the past, it was best to listen to doctors (or nurses that were typically much worse to upset) when they asked you to do something. Harry’s head was slow to move but it still did and he blinked even harder at the way the room instantly swam. Peter’s hand - Peter, it was Peter’s leg and Peter’s scent and  _ Peter _ , how terrible that he had finally seen it happen - brushed lightly down his cheek, over his chin, and up the other side. He smiled that almost sad little smile of his and he still looked far too worried for Harry to be happy about it. Nurse Devon, though, absolutely beamed when he looked at her, her pen light checking each pupil until he shut them painfully. 

Harry had the beginnings of a  _ nasty _ headache. 

“Okay,” She said brighter than the situation called for, but Harry appreciated the positivity when he had just made an embarrassment of himself in front of his entire class. He wondered if any of them had taken a video of it, or if Mrs. Santiago had reacted quick enough to hustle them out of the room. He wondered if he had fallen either backwards or forwards, or how he had even gotten down onto the ground in the first place. Was it as scary to see as it was to have happen to him? He had never seen it himself. He knew his father had some footage of at the  _ least _ his last seizure when he was twelve but Norman never let him see it. Harry actually, genuinely, wasn’t entirely sure if he  _ wanted _ to see it happen. His father told him that he twitched, would fall and spasm. Little tiny, shaking things with eyes rolled back and white. He  _ also _ said that he was trying to find a cure which, while Harry appreciated the effort, he would much rather his father be with  _ him _ instead of in a  _ lab _ most of the time. “Think you can sit up?” 

He thought about it, really thought about it and then nodded. The floor was chilly when he planted his hands down on it square and Peter’s were strong where they braced his back to help. Harry, for his part, moved slow and kept his head down. The nausea, at least, was dissipating with the more time that passed. “Betty made everyone leave.” Peter said lowly in his ear and settled behind, his chest something warm and strong to lean back against instead of the wall. His legs were bent at the knee where they framed Harry’s body and, really, it was more physical affection than either of them tended to do but Harry wasn’t about to push him away when he just wanted to pull him closer. Peter’s arms were just heavy enough to ground him and familiar enough that Harry didn’t feel as lost as he usually did after one of those. He was, also, the perfect height for Harry to tip his head back on his shoulder and blink up at the pasty ceiling tile instead of at Nurse Devon as she did whatever she needed to do for his medical files. 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what the protocol was - did the nurse automatically have to call an ambulance or did they forgo one in favor of his father? Did they only inform his doctor if it went over a certain amount of time or did they have to inform even if it lasted seconds over minutes? “Do you want some water?” Nurse Devon asked kindly and then stood with a grunt when he nodded. 

Peter, for his part, stayed the solid sentinel, one hand on Harry’s belly and the other tapping a rhythm on his shoulder. He breathed slowly and steady, a subconscious thing for Harry to match even as his breath hitched in his throat when his hand twitched in aftershocks on his lap. He shut his eyes tightly and told himself not to do it, not to break down, not  _ there _ , not after… well  _ after _ . “You fell backwards,” Peter spoke the words softly and the fingers that had been drumming on his shoulder moved to his hair, turned his face into his neck tighter and then down to his back. “I got your wrist and stopped you from falling into Betty or the ground.” 

“You were out for three minutes,” Nurse Devon sat down next to them, her legs splayed out in front of her and a bottle of water dripping condensation onto the classroom floor. “Which is good because that means I don’t have to call an ambulance.” Harry paid more attention to the way Peter’s hand felt than the words being said, even as his emotions seemingly betrayed him and a tear slid down the curve of his cheek. “Peter acted quickly, as did your friend Betty, and most people are more worried than they are looking for the next big gossip.” 

But Harry would  _ still _ be the next big gossip. Facing all of his classmates again would be agonizing. There would be the questions, the stares, the whispers, the caution. What if he dropped right in front of them  _ again _ , they’d ask. Is it safe for him to be in school? It was one thing for the majority to know, for  _ teachers _ to know (because with the movies they watched Harry either had to sit them out or get them medically cleared beforehand) but another thing entirely to see it. “I’m sorry,” He said softly into the collar of Peter’s shirt. Nurse Devon sighed, a small, sympathetic thing. 

“We couldn’t reach your dad.” She said after a moment. “ _ But _ Peter’s aunt is listed as your secondary contact and she’s on her way over now.” Harry had had to  _ fight _ to get May Parker listed anywhere on his forms for school, but who else did Norman have except a driver to pick Harry up if something went wrong? Not that he  _ wanted _ May of all people to leave work early for  _ him _ \- he  _ knew _ how much May struggled to pay the bills in the rising New York City living costs - but the idea of going home and being left alone in the big, empty manor was hallowing. The thought of going back to the Parker’s, where he had spent a good deal of his childhood, was much more welcoming. 

“Mrs. Santiago has another class,” He said pathetically. 

“They’re borrowing the art room next door for now. You’re not inconveniencing anyone.” Nurse Devon assured and then stood up, smoothly and with a hand on the wall to balance herself. “You stay there with Peter, okay? I’m going to get your bag together.” 

She was awarding him the privacy he needed to pull himself together and, really, Midtown didn’t pay her nearly enough for her kindness alone. She bustled on the other side of the room, but Harry’s things had already been shoved into his bag. Peter was quiet, which was unusual because Peter was almost never quiet, but he only seemed to sigh when Harry  _ did _ talk, as though the words were more painful to hear than they were to speak. “I should have stayed home.” Harry muttered and reached up a weak hand to brush stubbornly at the tears that continued to fight their way out of his eyes. They stung in his throat. “I knew it, I  _ knew _ it was happening.” 

“Hey,” Peter’s lips pressed a firm kiss to his forehead which only made Harry seemingly hurt more. “You made a mistake. It’s okay.” 

Harry shook his head stubbornly. “I was so  _ dumb _ .” 

“You’re not dumb.” 

“I scared you. I…” He gestured around the empty room. “I scared  _ everyone _ and dad’s going to be  _ so mad _ .” 

“If your dad’s mad at you for this,” Peter said seriously, brown pressing into blue and breath mingling between them. “Then I don’t think he’s actually aware of what epilepsy is.” 

He had a good point. His father could, and would, be angry about many things that Harry did but his seizures weren’t exactly something that he could control. If they came on then they came on, sure there were factors that Harry should have paid more attention to and things he should have done much earlier on but admitting that there was a problem wasn’t exactly a talent Norman had worked to instil in his child. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” Harry finally admitted. 

Peter laughed, a soft, sweet laugh, and held him tighter. He buried his face in Harry’s shoulder for a moment, pressed a kiss to the side of his neck and brushed a thumb under each eye to catch the tears before they fell. “I read that the electrical shock that a seizure sends through your body can really mess with your emotions.” Peter spoke science, when all else failed he  _ always  _ spoke science. “The reaction of crying and being overwhelmed is incredibly normal.” 

Normal. 

Harry laughed wetly, weakly. Peter smiled back. “Nothing about us is  _ normal _ , Parker.” 

“Eh,” Peter shrugged. “Normal’s overrated anyway.” 

\--

When they got back to the Parker residence, May just a step in front of them still in her scrubs from her day at work and phone pressed against her ear as she explained in clinical terms what had happened to his father, Peter still hadn’t stopped touching him. It wasn’t entirely an issue, part of the reason why they were together was because Harry preferred Peter’s hands  _ on _ him instead of  _ off _ him but he was starting to feel a little crowded. May hadn’t asked him many questions, just kissed the top of his head, smoothed back his hair and helped him move slowly back to the car. She was great like that, nice like that,  _ trained _ like that. He had nearly fallen asleep before they were even out of the parking lot, and even then he didn’t bother opening his eyes until they were back at the Parker’s apartment and his stomach wasn’t rolling in protest. 

He had always liked the Parker’s apartment, it was always much more welcoming than even his own home. May kept the apartment warm because Peter tended to run cold, especially during the winter months, and they had put their tree up November 1st, what would have been Ben’s birthday. It was a fake, plastic tree, but, then again, Harry didn’t even  _ have _ one so he thought seeing theirs with it’s multicolored lights and family made mis-matched ornaments was a nice sight to see. Pictures of Peter and Ben and May, as well as others in the family and friends, littered the walls and on the refrigerator May had placed their prom picture on proud display in the center next to a snapshot of her and Tony Stark’s driver - Happy. “You look exhausted,” She said with a hand over the receiver of her phone. “Why don’t you go lay down?” 

He was going to lay down regardless but he sent her a tight smile anyway, kicked off his shoes and retreated to Peter’s room to do just as she had suggested. May stopped Peter when he went to follow, handed the phone to  _ him _ (which Harry would be worried about later, for now he was much more focused on not falling over again to care that Peter was talking to his father without supervision or back up), and shuffled off to her room to change out of her work clothes. Harry left the door open, as he always did when he stayed in Peter’s room, and fell onto Peter’s bed sheets with a sigh of breath. 

He was so  _ tired _ , so incredibly emotionally wrung out and suddenly the embarrassment was back with full force. 

He had really just done that. 

In front of  _ everyone _ . 

And May had had to leave work for him and Peter had to talk to his father and Betty, oh poor Betty, had been right  _ behind him _ and…

Harry curled in on himself as much as his weak muscles would allow, hugged Peter’s pillow to his chest and allowed the sting of tears to finally break through. 

There was no shame there. Not in Peter’s bed, in May Parker’s apartment, with the door open. 

There was never any shame there. 

He wanted, a little desperately, to go home where he could be in his  _ own _ bed. But, then again, he didn’t want to be alone and the Osborn Manor was so very big and lonely. He pushed his face into Peter’s pillow and cried for what felt like an eternity until someone sat beside him, a soft weight on an even softer bed. May shushed him softly, brushed his hair from his forehead like she always did when Peter was crying and simply sat beside him. She didn’t offer any comforting words, didn’t ask him what was wrong, simply let him be - tears, exhaustion and all. He supposed that was what made her a good nurse. “He said he was going to try to come in a few hours.” Peter’s voice sounded strained, frustrated at the time frame. “He couldn’t  _ leave _ the office yet.” 

“Peter,” May cautioned as though she had heard the rant one too many times. 

And, honestly, so had Harry. Peter didn’t like Norman for any number of reasons but, most prominently, it was because of the lack of time he put into his son. Peter thought the expectations Norman put on him were ridiculous, a perfect GPA, Ivy League colleges, and either a business or biochemistry degree when that may not even be what Harry wanted were tantamount to child abuse in his eyes. And somedays Harry feared Peter was right. Sometimes he too wanted to hate his father for missed birthdays and holidays and the thought that expensive gifts and an eventual, impossible to reach cure, would be enough to make up for everything that was done wrong. But that day? When he was already wrung out physically and emotionally? Harry didn’t have the energy left in him to dislike his father but, instead, wished wistfully that he were there. 

Not that Norman would do much if he was. But he had a way of explaining the science behind what happened to Harry’s brain to cause his epilepsy to flare that was easy to swallow. He was, after all, the reason why Harry needed  _ facts _ to get through the day. “It’s whatever.” Peter waved away whatever he had been going to say and climbed over May’s seated form and Harry’s curled up one to lay down beside him. His back was to the wall, and three people were much too many for even his full sized bed but none of them moved. 

Peter’s arm slid firm around his waist and Harry’s back dipped, just a bit, when he pulled him closer. They breathed in sync, just a little fast and then slower, and slower, until Peter could see his eyes begin to droop. 

Harry’s body, his mind, was so incredibly tired. 

“You should get some sleep,” Peter said softly once May had left and Harry’s tears had subsided, his nose brushing against the tip of Harry’s and breath warm against his face. 

“I don’t think I’m going to be at school tomorrow.” Harry mumbled, arms bent against his chest before reaching out to hold onto Peter as tight as he was holding onto him. 

Peter fit their mouths together in a gentle, soft, kiss and he let out a relieved breath against Harry’s freckled cheek when he kissed back, even if it  _ was _ slower and lazier than usual. It didn’t go any deeper than the surface, did go any farther than a press of lips and inhale and exhale against the skin of his cheek. “Tomorrow’s saturday, Har.” Peter whispered when he did pull back and laughed a little at the soft hum and shrug of a careless shoulder. 

Harry didn’t open his eyes again that day and he fell asleep to the steady beat of Peter’s heart. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I love all of you so much.


End file.
